


Good Hope

by Savageandwise



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Angst, Death Gods, M/M, McLennon, Sort Of, South Africa, Supernatural Elements, Tarot Cards, Unfaithfulness, Work of fiction, not my take on reality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-04-29 00:01:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14460684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageandwise/pseuds/Savageandwise
Summary: 'You may be prepared to make a complete break from the past now and set up shop in a totally new environment. The stage is set for a new saga and throughout the remainder of 1980 you will be striving for greater freedom as well as recognition.'In May 1980 John flew to Cape Town on his own 'to cleanse his karma'. What if he wasn't alone?





	Good Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I asked you to meet me because I'm going to do a little traveling. And I wanted to ask you… I want you to come with me, Paul,” he said. 
> 
> In which Paul meets John for lunch and is invited on an adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is for @sunqueen78 who strongly believes Paul was in South Africa with John. I got sucked in and now I believe it too. I hope you like it!

“Iku wants payment.” That's what the man at the Nigerian country club bar told Paul. “This debt cannot be left unpaid.”

Paul understood about debts though he hadn't lacked for money since before his Beatle days. Even after the band was over and he was holed up in Scotland, assets frozen, he hadn't been truly destitute. But he remembered what it had been like, having to go without, having to worry about money. He tried to stay smart about it, pragmatic. Waste not, want not. Neither a lender nor a borrower be. 

“It was never yours. He only lent it to you. You and yours.”

The way Paul figured it, he'd never asked Iku for anything. But there it was. Iku wanted payment. And pay he would, one day. With his life. Everyone was living on borrowed time.

Iku, Yoruba god of death had an eye on Paul. In Nigeria he'd been threatened, robbed, nearly stabbed and suffocated. As if that wasn't enough there was the cholera. He only found out about it when they arrived back in London. That letter warning them to stay away from Lagos because of the cholera epidemic. It was almost funny.

“Nevermind,” Linda said. “We're home now. It's over. Everyone is safe.”

All Paul could think of was John telling him his luck had run out. It seemed like John was right. They brought each other luck. Those days were over. 

The next time he thought of Iku was in L.A. when he jammed with John and Harry and the others. Thought of how life was an hourglass, the sand rushing down and no way to stop it, no way to slow it. Later, alone, John's sloppy kisses. John's awkward caresses, his lovely face puffy from drink, his words of love slurred. The feeling of John's skin against his was so intoxicating he could barely think straight. Take me now, Iku, Paul thought. Wherever John kissed him, his skin sang.

“He'll kill himself, Paul. Please, please bring him home,” Yoko had pleaded with him. 

Maybe it's better that way, had been Paul's traitorous thought as he spilled into John's mouth, gasping for air. Pleasure so acute, it blocked out everything else. Iku wants payment. This debt cannot be left unpaid. Better to end this now, you and I.

But again Iku passed them over. John went back to Yoko. She sent Paul a white postcard, it only had one word on it. She didn't sign her name but he saw the New York postmark and he knew it was from her. 

_Breathe._

He took her advice. What other choice did he have? 

They sat at a table in a small cafe a few years later. John and Paul again. They tried to leave their egos at home. All Paul could think was that he'd been dead all these years. Now looking into John's eyes he could feel green shoots inside him struggling to push through the soil. Struggling to reach the sunlight. Fuck you, Iku. Life is stronger than death.

“I called you,”John explained. “Many times. It wouldn't have killed you to call me back, would it?”

“Don't lie, John. You never called me. I called you. But she never gives you my messages, does she?”

John shrugged guiltily. Her guilt or his own? There hadn't been a difference in over a decade, it seemed. Just as much JohnandYoko as they had ever been.

“I thought you just hadn't forgiven me,” Paul said. “Yet,” he added.

John pulled out a cigarette and held it between his lips a moment before lighting it.

“I was angry,” he admitted. “Imagine that brush-off. The brush-off of the century. You fuck a guy and tell him you love him. And he sends you back to your wife.”

Paul looked down at his half-eaten salad. It was true, he had sent him away. But John didn't understand how things were. Iku’s shadow, long and threatening, reaching out to every corner of the earth. 

“I'm sorry,” Paul said softly. “I thought that's what you wanted. I thought you wanted to go home but...but she wouldn't…”

John waved his apology away. Paul couldn't tell if he was angry or just impatient.

“What did you want to meet me for then if all you're doing is biting me head off? Next you'll mention the lawsuits and my indigestion is assured.”

John stuck his fork into Paul's salad and took a bite. 

“It's your lunch giving you indigestion, sweetheart,” John said, smiling through a mouthful of lettuce.

“What are you eating these days? Algae and distilled water? You look like shit,” Paul said. It came out sharper than he intended.

John looked genuinely hurt. He set his fork down and took a drag off his cigarette.

“I asked you to meet me because I'm going to do a little traveling. And I wanted to ask you… I want you to come with me, Paul,” he said. 

Before he could stop himself, a nervous laugh escaped Paul. 

“You're a first class wanker, you know?” John said quietly. 

He pulled out his wallet and fished out a few bills, tossed them to the table. Paul realised it must have taken a lot for John to say those words and he'd spoiled it with a misplaced giggle. It was not unlike the first time John ever found the courage to say something like this, something daring that needed saying.

They'd been home between Hamburg trips and hadn't spoken in ages and Paul had begun to think it was all over, the band, the thing with John - that undefined, terrifying thing he couldn't even put into words. 

John had kissed him in Hamburg, right before Paul had been deported. He could still recall the way it felt, the soft, hesitant pressure of John's lips against his, his hands gripping the collar of his leather jacket. The feeling of vertigo. It had felt all wrong and that in itself was right. The funny thing was he'd been expecting it. There had been so many times it almost happened. So many times, even on stage, drenched in sweat, faces tilted towards each other mid-song. They had always been going to do this. Paul had dreaded and longed for it simultaneously. And then it had been over. Just like that, before it had really begun, before he'd been able to react properly. Before he'd been able to kiss John back.

One night, after days and days of waiting, John had been at the door. He had some news, he announced to Paul who felt shellshocked to be standing so close to his friend after weeks of radio silence. He'd made him a cup of tea and sat down to hear the news.

“Look Paul, the truth is I've been ignoring you,” he'd said.

“I noticed. That's not news.”

“If you were a bird, I'd… well, I'd know what to do…”

Paul had laughed then. And John, red-faced and spluttering, had stood up abruptly as he had done now, knocking over his tea in the process. 

“I should have known,” John had muttered.

“No! Finish what you were saying! What would you do...if...uh...if I was… finish what you were saying.”

John had stood there for ages, his brows drawn together, his eyes bright with anger.

“If you were a girl…” he'd begun again.

He'd never had the chance to finish the sentence. Paul had stood, leaned in and kissed him on his open mouth before he could change his mind. Right in his father's kitchen in Allerton. With Mike and dad asleep upstairs. He'd been so daring then, so eager to leap without looking. 

When he thought about it now it made him sick to his stomach. They had risked losing everything. If they had chosen to be sensible, if either of them had backed away then. If they had worried about being found out, about being labeled queer, the world might be an altogether different place. The world would be a far worse place. They had worried, but not enough to stop. And in the end this thing between them had made the Beatles and broken it. He recognised Iku there, between what was safe and what was daring. The path between life and death was often precarious. It was a place where miracles happened.

He wasn't going to solve this with a kiss today. Not in a New York restaurant in the middle of the day. Things had changed. The John standing before him wallet in hand was a stranger with his thin, drawn face, his haunted eyes.

“Sit down,” Paul said forcefully. “People are watching.”

John didn't sit. He didn't look around either, his eyes were locked on Paul's face. 

“I don't give a rat's arse who’s looking. What are you worried about anyway? They can't hear us.”

He thought of that kiss in Allerton. How John's arms had come around him, his fists clenched in the fabric of his shirt.

“If you were a bird I'd have had you flat on your back five seconds after walking in the door,” John had said when they'd caught their breath at last.

“What's stopping you?” Paul had asked, nearly incoherent with joy. “The fact that I haven't got tits?” 

John had snorted with laughter, he'd slid his hands up Paul's chest and over his shoulders.

“I'm not a girl, John,” Paul had said seriously. “Are you coming upstairs with me?”

“If you don't give a rat's arse you can sit down,” Paul said now. “What's stopping you anyway? The fact that I haven't got tits?”

John sat down in a hurry, his mouth hanging open, his eyes wide with shock.

“What's the matter? Did you think I'd forgotten? I'll come with you. Alright? Where are we going?”

John had taken hold of his hand and let him drag him upstairs. For all his talk about what he'd do if Paul were a girl it had been John flat on his back on Paul's narrow bed, trembling like a virgin. Paul had crawled on top of him, put his hands to either side of his face, kissed him tenderly, rubbed himself against John's prone form until he moaned into his mouth. If he had been a girl Paul would have slid a finger into her to test how wet she was. He opened John's trousers instead, gripped his hard cock. 

“What’re you doing?” John had asked deliriously, his eyes glazed, mouth slack with want.

“What does it look like?” Paul had whispered back, taking John's hand and pressing it to his own cock. “Don't you want to touch me?”

He hadn't needed much encouragement after that. Later, their arms wrapped around each other, Paul had asked him why he'd seemed uncertain. John had shrugged, buried his nose in Paul's hair.

“What if I got it wrong? It's not like with girls. There's only one of you.”

“How could you get it wrong?” Paul had asked.

You could get it wrong, they learned later. You could get it so wrong. Back then, John had needed Paul's daring to push him forward. Now it seemed it was the other way around. Paul wanted this. Something told him it was their last chance but he couldn't make the leap without help.

“Cape Town,” John said. “That's what the cards say.”

Iku wants payment. You never could get what you wanted without walking that precarious path. 

“South Africa,” Paul said slowly. 

How could he explain to John he owed a life debt? One he feared might be collected if he set foot upon that continent. That would sound like a weak excuse. Like he was trying to talk his way out of it. This was what John was offering. Paul knew he wouldn't ask again.

“Nevermind. Must have been crazy to ask,” John said, looking away and rearranging the dollar bills on the table.

Paul reached across the table to touch John's hand. Let them look. There's only one of you.

“Cape Town it is,” Paul said with a brightness he didn't feel.

When they said goodbye they hugged awkwardly. Paul half expected him to do a little dance like they used to, hopping from one foot to the other like he had ants in his pants, but he didn't. Paul let his hand slide to the back of John's neck and he pulled away at once, his eyes dark and unreadable. And Paul was back at square one. He wanted to draw John back into his embrace and demand he explain himself. If he was going to risk his life flying to Africa, back into Iku’s domain then he should know this much at least: Are we friends? Are we lovers? Why did you ask me? 

He couldn't make himself say the words, his pride got in the way. They were still locked in that same dance. Forwards and backwards. Slightly out of sync with one another. Pushing each other away and then clinging onto each other for dear life. And Iku kept time with slow, steady hand-claps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recently I've been really fascinated by the connection between the Beatles and death. It's like a red thread that followed them through out their lives. Deaths that changed who they were and altered their timeline. 
> 
> I thought about Paul's brush with death in Nigeria after talking to @coffee-and-classicrock. You should definitely write your own take, girl.
> 
> I didn't do too much digging into Yoruba religion for this fic and i apologise if i got stuff wrong. It was not my intent to offend. Paul in this fic is just using what little information he has and spinning it into his own thing. 
> 
> I had planned to write a short thing but it demanded a longer structure. Those boys. So demanding. 
> 
> The beginning of the summary is taken from the Cape Town chapter of Robert Rosen's book Nowhere Man, The final days of John Lennon.
> 
> Thank you to @sunqueen78 for the prompt! 
> 
> Thank you to @where-it-will-go for all the encouragement! 
> 
> Thank you to twinka, my dear, for the beta and for finding the subject intriguing! 
> 
> In order to get a feel for this fic I've been watching movies that play in Africa. If you have any movie suggestions let me know.  
> I hope i get the rest out soon...but i ought to be working on the big bang fic...


End file.
